abscond
by Princoxx
Summary: College AU, in which two losers are allergic to talking about feelings and the hockey player somehow becomes the voice of reason. USUK, PruCan


**_ab·scond _**

_/abˈskänd/_

_Verb_

_1. leave hurriedly and secretly, typically to avoid detection or arrest_

_2. (of someone on bail) Fail to surrender oneself for custody at the appointed time_

_Synonyms_

_escape - flee - run away - elope - get away_

* * *

_01. Escape_

Alfred loves fucking Arthur. He loves making him gasp and cry, seeing him shake apart as he's being fucked from behind. He loves listening to Arthur's drawn-out moans and angry, sobbing curses when Alfred holds back just to_ tease_ him, to see how much he can take before he starts_ losing_ it, before he starts _begging_ for it, mouth wet as it shapes the sweetest pleas, eyes dark and heavy, his whole body a flushed, trembling mess of sweat and weak limbs. But most of all, he loves leaving marks all over Arthur's pale body, his soft thighs, the line of his spine, the arch of his throat, the pale expanse of his chest, dotted with bruises, bright and garish when the morning comes and he wakes up alone in his bed. Because Alfred loves fucking Arthur. But he doesn't love him.

They were introduced at a frat party. After two shots of straight vodka, Arthur had been wobbly on his feet but talkative and oddly tactile, plastering himself to anyone within reach. He fell into a stranger's lap and leaned into the hand that grasped at his hair like he was starved for touch. Alfred, amused at his antics, had offered to take him to bed and Arthur had followed him trustingly, naively, sporting a sweet drunken smile.

Alfred only fingered him that time. But that was enough for Alfred to see how utterly wanton Arthur looked when he was on his knees, moaning into a pillow as his ass was toyed with. Alfred couldn't forget the way Arthur arched his back when he came, the choked cry he gave when Alfred pushed his fingers _hard_ against his prostate, his soft whimpers, telling Alfred how much it hurt so good. Alfred was gone the next morning and Arthur was hungover, barely able to grasp the fact that he was naked from the waist down until Matthias came in to kick him out of the dorm and he found himself stumbling across campus in nothing but his white Oxford, thankfully long enough to cover his crotch but not the bite marks scattered across his thighs.

It progressed from there, too fast and too soon.

The next time they meet, it's at a game. It turns out that Alfred's brother is in the hockey team. It _also_ turns out that the student Arthur tutors in English literature is Alfred's brother. They're sitting on either side of the penalty box, rooting for Matthew, who had just gotten a breakaway and is racing across the ice to score a goal, when their eyes meet.

There's no way Arthur can forget his face. He'd spent the last four months fingering himself whenever he was horny and alone, trying to recapture the memory of that first time. That must have shown on his face because the guy fucking_ smiles_, all smug and shit, before turning around and refocusing on the game just as Matthew's wristshot sends the puck flying to the back of the net. He cups his hands over his mouth and hollers something to his brother, who gives him the finger and skates over to Arthur instead.

Matthew could_ be_ his brother, but for the shy smiles and the sweet, flustered stammer he gets around Arthur. They're both tall and blonde with wide shoulders and slim hips, all lean muscle and long legs and faces that could grace a magazine cover. Arthur doesn't know how he didn't see the resemblance before. He waves at Matthew, who grins back and taps his stick to his helmet in a salute, before ducking his head and skating away. Matthew can't help but smile as he takes his seat in the bench, pleased to have scored a goal, pleased to have invited Arthur to come to his game, and pleased to have gotten his brother to come too, asshole he may be.

They all go to the afterparty. Amidst the crowd of proud, cheering fans and adrenaline-pumped athletes in varying degrees of sobriety, Matthew loses Arthur. When he turns to look for him, Gil shoves a keg stand in his face and tells him that Ivan is already halfway done with his.

Upstairs, Alfred has Arthur pinned against the wall, slowly fucking him from behind, while Arthur's fingers weakly scrabble against the patterned wallpaper.

The last thing Matthew will remember from that night is seeing Arthur stumbling down the stairs, sweaty and well-fucked, before he reaches for another keg.

_02. Flee_

They don't talk about it. Arthur comes from a conservative family and is too head shy to initiate any conversation involving sex. Alfred doesn't seem to mind. He's a wild thing let loose on a college campus so he isn't really keen on being _exclusive_ with anyone, although he'll admit he likes fucking Arthur most.

They don't always fuck though. Sometimes Arthur comes over when his roommate is being an arse and he needs some quiet space to study or work on his thesis paper. The fact that Alfred's room is _quiet_ surprised him at first. It was the last thing he expected from the resident playboy. But lately, he's been staying over every chance he got. Alfred bitches at him for it but he doesn't make him _leave_, which must count for something, Arthur guesses.

Alfred makes him tea, even though he claims to hate the stuff, and plays online games on his xbox while Arthur studies on his bed. Sometimes, when Arthur is itching to take a break from his studies, they watch trashy movies together, and Alfred laughs at Arthur's patronizing, sarcastic commentary. Other times, it's Alfred who wants Arthur to take a break from studying because "seeing you so worked up over that stupid book is giving me hives" and he picks on Arthur until Arthur verbally fights back and they end up bickering (but Alfred's okay with that, because at least then, Arthur's paying attention to him and not his textbook). Sometimes they even order pizza or Indian food, because apparently Arthur's a classy guy who likes curry.

The downside to the whole arrangement is that whenever Alfred gets horny, which is often, he just strips down to his tight boxer briefs, sprawls out on the nearest available surface, and patiently waits for Arthur to give up _pretending_ to study so they can fuck, which doesn't leave Arthur much time to actually study.

Three months after the post-hockey game party, Alfred invites Arthur over for a "study date," he says, completely serious, over the phone. When Arthur gets there, it's to find Alfred lying shirtless on his bed, covers kicked around his ankles, hands in his pants. "God, fucking finally," he says, making a bitchface at Arthur. "Come here and fuck me."

And Arthur does, because he can't say no to Alfred. He comes before he even gets his dick inside Alfred, but Alfred just shushes him and tongues at his nipples and collarbone until he's hard again. Alfred's a power bottom, Arthur really should've known, not that he's complaining because having Alfred's hole stretch around his cock feels amazing and he might've spewed some vaguely vomit-inducing lines and Alfred might've laughed at him but at least Alfred doesn't tell him to _stop._

It's agony when Alfred starts moving and all Arthur can do is grasp Alfred's flexing thighs with sweaty fingers and watch his face as he rides him. Arthur wants to be able to kiss and touch and _move,_ not just lie still and let Alfred do all the work. He lifts his hips, experimentally thrusting up just as Alfred is dropping down, and is rewarded by a soft, surprised mewl from Alfred, who turns bright red and bites back a moan when Arthur repeats the motion.

"Fuck," Arthur swears, nails digging into Alfred's skin.

Alfred laughs again, low and vulnerable-sounding, and says, "That's what we're doing. Weren't you clear on that _or-ngh!"_

"Damn it, do you never shut up?" Arthur asks, driving up into Alfred again.

_"Oh,"_ Alfred moans, "God no, _ah,_ what would be, _hah,_ the fun in that?"

"Christ. Just shut. The fuck. Up," Arthur says, feeling sweat drip down his brow as he emphasizes each full stop with a thrust.

_"Ngh,_ make me," Alfred taunts, grinding down on his dick.

Arthur curls a hand around Alfred's neck, tugging at the hairs at his nape, and leans up to smash their mouths together. The kiss is messy and filthy and just on the good side of painful. He can taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth but when he pulls away to look at Alfred's face, he sees Alfred licking at his lips, eyes dark and blown, like seeing Arthur being aggressive turns him on.

Arthur doesn't realize he's talking out loud until he sees Alfred flush and avert his gaze.

"Hey," Arthur says, pausing to cup the side of Alfred's face. He eyes him thoughtfully, looking as though he wants to tell him something, and settles on, "It's alright. It's okay. I've got you."

All the tension leaves Alfred's body then, and he practically melts into Arthur's touch. Having Alfred on his lap makes it hard to set the pace, so Arthur quickly rectifies the situation and rearranges their position so that Alfred is on his back with his arms stretched up over his head. Arthur can't help but touch him, from the span of his ribs to the plump swell of his arse. He's soft and warm everywhere, making small '_ah, ah, ah_' sounds as Arthur takes him.

As much as Arthur likes Alfred's spitfire attitude, he can't lie and say he doesn't like Alfred loose and trusting and pliant under him more. Maybe it's the novelty of the experience. Alfred never lets his guard down, even when he's fucking Arthur. Seeing Alfred all soft and vulnerable now is making Arthur slowly lose his mind. It makes him think of how much he wishes he could ask Alfred out on a date and not be laughed at, how much he wishes he was the only one who ever saw Alfred like this, how much he wishes they fucked day and night because they were in love rather than out of convenience.

Alfred comes with a wet moan and passes out almost immediately after. Arthur is tempted to stay so he can make fun of Alfred for it later but he can't. Staying for the night would _mean_ things and they aren't like that. Alfred doesn't want them like that, that's why he never _stays,_ and Arthur can't afford to fool himself into thinking they are, even for just a moment, because it'll only hurt. It _already_ hurts. That doesn't stop Arthur from wanting to curl up next to Alfred and giving in to sleep though. Arthur could probably get away with pretending he was just too tired to go back to his own room if Alfred decides to confront him about it in the morning, but he doesn't want to risk it, this thing they have, for one night of pretense, he can't and he won't. The room feels stifling, even with the breeze rolling in from the wide open windows, so Arthur gets up and pulls on his clothes before throwing a blanket over Alfred and leaving, though _fleeing_ would be a more apt description.

This time, it's Alfred who wakes up alone in the middle of the night, blindly reaching for someone who isn't there.

_03. Run Away_

Alfred and Arthur don't talk for a week, and Alfred _knows_ it's not by accident because their campus isn't that large and it's practically impossible not to bump into each other, but he doesn't like thinking about that because it would mean Arthur is actively avoiding him. They see each other during another hockey game, but as soon as Alfred catches Arthur's eye, Arthur turns his head away and starts talking to the guy sitting next to him, which, what the fuck, Arthur doesn't even _like_ Francis, and Alfred is seething even as he flashes Arthur a hurt look and slumps back against his seat. Alfred may be doggedly persistent, but he doesn't like hanging around where he knows he's not wanted, and he knows that with Arthur he isn't wanted, not anymore, so he backs off, tucks his tail between his legs and runs away. He leaves the game early and goes to his dorm to try to sleep off the ball of confusion and _hurt_ swirling in his gut.

When he comes to, his brother is standing over him, frowning prettily. "You left the game," is the first thing that comes out of Matthew's mouth. It sounds like an accusation.

"Mm, yeah, you guys were sucking real bad, so," Alfred mumbles sleepily, sitting up and reaching for his glasses.

Matthew sits down next to him and bumps his shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asks, looking down at the floor before glancing at his brother.

Alfred cracks a tired grin and slaps Matthew's back. "I am hella fine, brother mine. Though it warms my heart to know you still care enough to actually ask. We haven't talked in a while. I was starting to think you hated me."

Alfred is smiling easily, like he's just kidding around, but Matthew feels a flash of guilt because it's _true,_ or was true for a while at least, and he can't help but squirm uncomfortably at the thought. "Yeah, well, hockey, you know," Matthew answers lamely, with a shrug.

"Yeah, I know..." Alfred says.

"Listen, are you sure you're okay?" Matthew asks urgently, twisting around to face Alfred, who's looking at his lap, picking at the threads of his blanket.

Alfred smiles automatically when he raises his eyes to meet Matthew's. "Chill out, man. I'm _fine._ Go get back to your game or something."

"The game's over, _asshole._ And you didn't get to see my game-winning goal because you just up and left before it was even over. And don't you fucking lie to me, Alfred, I'm your twin, we've been living together for _years,_ and I know your ticks. You might fool everyone, but not me. I know you're upset about something. So spill."

Alfred leans forward, resting his chin on Matthew's shoulder and curling an arm over Matthew's chest. "Matt, Matt, Matt," he says, "you're such a pain in my ass, you know that?"

Alfred sounds sickeningly fond, so Matthew takes that as a cue to plow on with his interrogation. "Is this about Arthur?" he asks, because he sees how Alfred looks at Arthur, and Arthur isn't here telling Alfred to quit moping and nagging him to type up his lab report instead. He might have also seen Arthur hanging out with Francis at the game.

Matthew doesn't get an answer for a while. The only sound in the room is their breathing and the muffled rattle of the radiator.

"I think Arthur broke up with me," Alfred says finally.

"I didn't know you two were dating," Matthew comments dryly.

"We weren't. We were just butt buddies. But it's still called the same thing when the other guy decides to break it off, right?" Alfred sounds so blasé, but Matthew sees the slight tightening of the corners of his lips, the tenseness of his jaw, and knows that he's more upset than he lets on.

Matthew tips his head back and blows out air. "Yeah, I guess," he says. He works his jaw before getting up the courage to say, "He isn't fucking Francis, you know."

Alfred wrinkles his nose and says, "I don't care who he's fucking now. And how would you know anyway? Arthur's so repressed he won't even talk sex with _me."_ Alfred remembers how hard it was to set boundaries in bed when Arthur couldn't even hold a conversation about the things they did without getting flustered and running away. Alfred had to learn Arthur's body _for_ him, so he could keep him _safe,_ and he grew adept at translating every little twitch, every minute tremble, every slight clench of muscle, like Arthur's body was just a book spread out in front of him, written with movements more graceful than calligraphy, his pale freckled skin flushed with heat more enticing than the richness of deep indigo ink.

"Yes, you do so care," Matthew replies easily. "And I know because Gil is a big gossip, and also Francis's best friend, and he told me that Francis has a girl, Joan, waiting for him in France and he really loves her, so he's not going to..."

Alfred pulls away to lie back on the bed and says nothing.

Matthew sighs exasperatedly and says, "Look, just because he stopped having sex with you, it doesn't mean it's because he found someone else. I'm pretty sure you've ruined him for anyone else, anyway."

Alfred snorts derisively and mumbles, "He's the one that ruined me for everyone else."

Alfred doesn't know why Matthew gapes at him after he says that, but once he repeats what he just said in his head, he jerks upright and shoves Matthew. "I didn't mean anything by that. Shut up, Matt."

"But you-"

"No. Goddamn it. Just. Augh. Leave me alone. I need-"

"Arthur? He's right downstairs. Should I get him so you two can talk?"

"What!?" Alfred flushes when his voice comes out sounding half-strangled. "No! God, what the fuck is he doing here?" he says, recovering quickly.

Matthew rubs the spot on his chest where Alfred shoved him, mouthing, 'ow,' and shoots his brother a dirty look. "He was worried when you left so he asked me to check on you," he explains, rolling his eyes afterward. "God knows why I agreed," he adds under his breath.

"Why didn't he come himself?" Alfred demands, getting up and crossing his arms over his chest.

Matthew sighs, lazily getting to his feet. "I don't know. Why don't you ask him that? I'm due for a nap, so I'm going back to my room," he says, stretching as he makes his way to the door.

"But-"

Matthew turns his head so fast, he should have gotten whiplash. "No buts. I really like Arthur, okay, Al? So you had better not mess him up." He stares Alfred in the eye, willing him to understand. It's important that he understands, because Matthew _hates_ losing, especially to Alfred, especially when it comes to things that really matter, and Arthur really fucking matters. He can't help his lips from quirking when he sees Al's mouth fall open in realization.

"You never said-" Alfred starts to say.

"There was nothing to say," Matthew interrupts. "I like to think that I know Arthur better than most people, and I _know_ he's happy. With you. Or at least, he was." He fixes Alfred with another stare. "Whatever you did. Fix it."

Alfred purses his lips. "Who said I did it? I don't even know what it is I'm supposed to have done."

"Figure it out," Matthew says, hands closing around the doorknob. "Oh, and don't fuck him until you do."

_04. Elope_

It takes Alfred an awfully long time to propel himself out the door and down the stairs to the common room, but when he finally does, Arthur is still there, sitting on the overstuffed couch and flipping through channels on the flatscreen. He chuckles at some obscure joke the Discovery Channel guy says and Alfred almost cringes when he feels a little flutter in his chest. God, but why did Arthur have to be so _stupidly_ adorable? The screen blinks before turning dark, and Alfred's gaze locks with that of Arthur's reflection.

He clears his throat, but before he can say anything, Arthur is up, facing him. "Hey," they both say at the same time.

Arthur's lips twitch up in a small smile and Alfred can feel an answering grin start to form on his face.

Alfred takes a seat on the couch, glad when Arthur follows suit, because standing around staring at each other would be awkward, and he kinda misses being close to Arthur. "So," he says, staring at the blank screen. "Wanna tell me what's going on with you?"

He hears Arthur shift beside him and when he turns his head, Arthur is facing him, knees tucked under his chin, his face unreadable. "I'm not the one that stormed out of the rink."

Alfred blows out an exasperated breath, because _of course_ Arthur would want to be _difficult._ "I don't know what you want me to say."

"The truth."

Alfred leans forward on his elbows, looking down at the floor between his feet. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and says, "I left because I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to see you all over_ that guy_." He slants a look at Arthur as he says the last word, and the guilty look that crosses Arthur's face is enough to spur him on, keep him talking. "You know I'd understand if you didn't want this_-us_-anymore_._ I'd _get_ it. You could've just _said._ It's not like I'd have stopped you from fucking other people. I know you're not, like, obligated to do anything for me since we're not fucking dating or anything, but _still._ You could have just _told_ me instead of leaving me to wonder what the fuck I'd done wrong. And I don't even understand why you wanted to stop. I'm fucking sorry if I was such a bad lay," Alfred blushes as he says it, because it's embarrassing to remember how much he'd _enjoyed_ that, how he'd woken up feeling tired and fucked out but _happy_ as all shit, only to find the other side of the bed empty, and that had hurt like a punch to the gut, "-would've known you weren't _into_ it if you'd just _said-"_

"But I was," Arthur interrupts, and Alfred mouth clicks shut. Arthur holds his gaze, steady and intent. "I was. Really into, I mean."

Alfred feels his breath whoosh out of him. "Oh yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah." Arthur's eyes dart away and Alfred feels his heart constrict again.

"Then why did you..." Alfred gazes at him helplessly. "Why have you been avoiding me all week?"

Arthur fidgets a bit, before looking up at Alfred. He sighs softly, and Alfred just wants to touch his mouth, smooth out the frown on his lips. "I'm sorry," says Arthur.

Alfred feels his stomach sink because Arthur isn't even _denying_ it. He hesitates, but he can't not ask. "Did you...with Francis," he struggles to say.

He sees Arthur wrinkle his nose. "Francis? What are you-? Oh, God. Why would you even-"

"Did you?" Alfred presses.

"Of course not!" Arthur exclaims, an angry flush blooming on his cheeks. "God, you're such an arsehole. Did you really think I _could-_with anyone else-like it's just that easy to forget about you and _want_ anyone else-"

And that's it-all he needs to hear. Alfred can't help it then. He surges forward to kiss Arthur on the mouth, a tentative grin tugging on his lips. He feels giddy with relief. It was one thing to hear it from Matthew, but another thing altogether to hear it from Arthur. "So there's really no one else, huh?" he asks, because he _is_ kind of an asshole.

Arthur grabs him by the back of his neck for another kiss, messy and filthy and thorough, like he's staking a claim, and damn if that doesn't get Alfred hot for him. "No," Arthur says when they part. "No one else." Arthur is staring at him, eyes so dark, he just _wants._

Alfred's grin softens into a dimpled smile and he noses Arthur's jaw, bringing his hands around Arthur's small waist. "Me either," he murmurs, kissing the soft skin of Arthur's throat.

He feels Arthur seize up under him so he pulls away, looks him in the face. Arthur's gaze is searching, cautious and unsure, so Alfred bumps their foreheads, shut his eyes for a moment, and says, "I mean it," in the air between them. "Only you."

Arthur blinks, eyes wide and suddenly damp. He looks a bit lost, and Alfred can't help but grip him tighter.

"You never stayed," Arthur accuses, slanting him a weak glare. "I thought you didn't _want-"_

"Of course I always want," Alfred says with a soft sigh as he kisses Arthur on the mouth.

He feels more than hears Arthur's hitched breath. Then the kiss turns messy and frantic as Alfred licks into Arthur's mouth, feels Arthur respond like he's starved for it. He groans when Arthur's knee grinds up between his legs and he tucks the tips of his fingers below the waistband of Arthur's pants, rubbing the dimples on his back.

They're sloppily making out on the couch when they hear the doorknob turn and they immediately spring apart. Their rumpled clothes, Arthur's kiss-bruised lips, the slight bulge in Alfred's pants, and the identical guilty looks on their faces make it pretty obvious what they've been up to. Luckily, it's just Gilbert, holding a crate of what appears to be a dozen chicks. He stares at them for a good half minute before shaking his head and casually strolling towards the stairs. "Remember to practice safe sex, kids! Make sure you use a condom!" he hollers over his shoulder, cackling as he climbs up in search for Matthew.

Chagrined, they both wait until Gilbert's gone before looking at each other sheepishly. "My room?" Alfred asks.

"That's, yeah, probably a good idea," Arthur replies, looking amused.

"C'mon," Alfred says with a lazy smile, pulling Arthur up and steering him towards the stairs.

Once they're safely behind a closed door, Arthur wastes no time in shoving Alfred against the wall. He fumbles with Alfred's belt, his movements jerky, on the cusp of desperate, before sinking down on his knees and pulling down Alfred's jeans.

Alfred wants to kiss him but then Arthur is mouthing at his dick and he can't think past wanting Arthur's mouth on bare skin. He imagines Arthur's soft lips stretched wide around his dick and is instantly, blindingly hard. He shoves down his black briefs and wraps a hand around his dick, offering the wet tip to Arthur, who looks up at him and palms himself through his jeans before leaning forward to lick across the head. Alfred makes an embarrassing sound and uses his other hand to cradle Arthur's cheek, pressing his thumb into Arthur's lips until he can feel teeth.

Arthur licks the pad of his thumb, pupils blown wide and dark, and pitches forward to take Alfred's dick into his mouth, making a choking sound that makes Alfred's grip on his jaw tighten. "Fuck, Arthur, your _mouth,"_ Alfred breathes, letting go of his dick to distractedly run his fingers through Arthur's soft hair. He lazily moves his hips, breath coming in soft pants, as Arthur begins to suck. Alfred doesn't know where Arthur's hands are, but he knows they aren't inside his pants, so he says, "Touch yourself," and feels dizzy with elation when Arthur _obeys_. Alfred hears the sound of a zipper being undone, and knows Arthur is finally touching himself when he hears Arthur make a sobbing noise in his throat, mouth getting sloppy as he's distracted with trying to get himself off.

The picture of Arthur on his knees, jerking himself off while he's blowing Alfred is almost enough to make Alfred come. But then Arthur pulls away, rests his head against Alfred's hip, and Alfred can't see anything except the imperceptible tremor of Arthur's shoulder. Alfred is almost thrown into a blind panic, thinking Arthur's hurt, but then he hears Arthur's muffled moan and feels something warm and wet hit his leg and the realization that Arthur had been rubbing up against his leg makes him go hot all over. He tips Arthur's head up, sees his bruised lips and heated cheeks, and slides down to the ground, pulling Arthur in until there's barely any space left between them. "Sorry," Arthur gasps, clutching the back of Alfred's head. "I couldn't-I-"

"God," Alfred groans, pressing a kiss to Arthur's lips to shut him up. "Don't _even._ That was so hot, I just wanna-" He breaks himself off by shoving Arthur until he's lying on the floor. Alfred crouches over him, licking into his mouth and scattering bite marks all over his throat, until he can see that Arthur's on his way to getting hard again.

"Time for round two," Alfred says cheerfully.

Instead of the long-suffering sigh Alfred half expected, Arthur replies with a request. "Come on me," he breathes.

Alfred makes a choking sound and sees Arthur smile crookedly at his reaction. "Do it," says Arthur, stretching himself out on the floor. He's all pale skin and sinuous muscles, flexing enticingly with each movement. "And then I'll let you fuck me," he adds loftily.

If that isn't incentive enough, then Alfred doesn't know what is. He straddles Arthur's waist and kneels over him, a hand on his dick. Arthur's just lying there, watching him, but Alfred thinks this might be one of the hottest things they've ever done. Alfred checks and, yeah, Arthur must agree because he's so hard and wet for it, absentmindedly rubbing his own nipples as he stares at Alfred, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

Alfred's been close for a while now, so it doesn't take much to get him over the edge. When he does, he crouches down, supporting himself with one arm, and angles his dick over Arthur 's chest with the other, leaving streaks of white over his pale pink nipples. He hears Arthur's breath catch, and a sense of possessiveness flares in Alfred's gut because Arthur looks nothing less than utterly _debauched,_ ruined and filthy as he stares up at Alfred with too dark eyes, cheeks flushed, his mouth hanging open in wordless surprise.

They move to the bed, because Alfred isn't a total barbarian, he knows how uncomfortable the hard floor is and how much rugburn _sucks._ So they fuck on the bed, where Alfred takes a moment to stare at Arthur spread out on his sheets, willing and trusting, and Alfred still can't believe Arthur is even _here._ They take it slow, because they can now. Jerking off on each other took some of the edge off. And it's good. It's really good. Alfred is even willing to bet it's the best sex they've ever had. But the cuddling and spooning afterwards is even _better,_ because Alfred gets to hold Arthur so that he doesn't ever feel unwanted, and they fall asleep like that, Alfred tucked behind Arthur, his arms loosely wrapped around Arthur's shoulders, their legs tangled together under the sheets, and they're not perfect, not yet, because they still have a shit ton of things to discuss, but _this._ This is perfect. And Alfred never wants to _stop._

They disappear in the morning. Matthew stops by Alfred's room to invite him to go jogging, but all he sees is the pile of dirty sheets in the corner, a half-empty closet, and the upturned alarm clock next to the bed. He turns off the fan, because Alfred had left the fan on to air out the room, which was considerate of him, Matthew guesses, although on second thought, it was more likely Arthur's doing. Matthew sighs as he picks up the sheets, making sure to hold them an arm's length away, and goes to dump them in the hamper. On his way out, he sees the note tacked to the wall next to the door.

It says, _Matt, going up to the cabin with Arthur_, in Alfred's messy scrawl. And under that, _Matthew, Alfred says we're going on a roadtrip up to the lakeside cabin your family owns in Manitoba. We're dreadfully sorry for not telling you in person, but it was a rather hasty decision. Take care. And make sure you review your notes for your exam! P.S. He isn't kidnapping me, regardless of how much things point to the contrary. P.P.S. Thank you,_ in Arthur's perfect script. Matthew shakes his head, muttering, "Idiots," under his breath as he walks out, but there is a hint of a smile on his lips.

Matthew goes jogging with the new German foreign exchange student instead. Gilbert recently moved into campus with his brother, so he doesn't have many people to hang out with, and Matthew remembers how that feels so he tries to hang out with Gilbert as much as he can. He even brings him along to hockey practice and introduces him to everyone. Gilbert really hits it off with most of the other guys on the team (bar Ivan, but then again, no one really sees eye to eye with the Russian; he's soft on Matthew though, and isn't that another thing to think about?), so Matthew doesn't really get why Gilbert insists on hanging around him. He doesn't say anything though, because it seems a bit rude to ask.

"So, what happened to your brother and his boytoy?" Gilbert asks when they pause for a water break.

"You've met my brother and his boyto-er, Arthur?" Matthew deflects, taking a sip from his bottle.

Gilbert cackles, and really, it's the only way to describe his laugh. "I walked in on them last night," he explains when Matthew looks at him.

Matthew manages not to spit out his water but he swallows quickly to say, "Sorry about that."

Gilbert snorts, waves away his apology, and chugs down a bottle of Gatorade.

They're jogging side by side again when Matthew answers the question. He's rolling his eyes as he says it. "I think they eloped to Canada."

* * *

(a/n: The next (last) chapter will most likely focus on Matthew's love life, because I _love_ hockey, and people who play hockey, and people who play hockey _and_ fall in love with each other. Written for absconds at tumblr. All grammar and spelling errors are mine. Sorry for the gratuitous use of italics. I love writing Alfred as a bumbling sweetheart but I really like jerk Alfred too, so. This happened. Also, I wanted to practice writing smut. And try out a new writing style that I really like. How'd I do?)


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